open | now give me something to believe in.

[interroga]

WHO: Cassian Andor & you
WHAT: A liaison from the Shadow Dragons arrives
WHEN: Bloomingtide
WHERE: Minrathous + Kirkwall
NOTES: Some injury description

arrival.

It’s a late spring night when a stranger arrives at the Widow Tavisa’s Boarding House.

Most regular guests would take the front entrance and speak to the innkeeper in the main room; but this one slips through the back entrance and takes an out-of-the-way servant’s staircase, into a shuttered wing of the building which isn’t supposed to be open to the public. But those rare people in the know might be aware that this leads to Riftwatch’s secret outpost in Minrathous —

The darkhaired man slumps against the locked door leading into their safehouse. He knocks on the door in a fixed, staccato rhythm identifying him as an ally. He has a hand pressed to his side with worrisome urgency, jaw tight and teeth gritted against the pain; he knocks again a little louder, in case whoever’s on watch is dozing.

No one’s expecting a new arrival right at this hour. It’s not ideal.

settling in.

After finally getting vetted and officially joining, Cassian tucks the Riftwatch pin into his pocket and starts to get the lay of the land, gathering information, pressing a finger to the pulse of this new city he’s going to be calling home.

There’s a kind of amiable affability to this new arrival, his smile calculated to be inoffensive and mild, even as the gears are very busily ticking away behind his dark-brown eyes.

You might find him at the Gallows bar, pouring himself a drink and smoothly sliding into the chair at your table to pry: “So, what’s your favourite place in the Gallows or Kirkwall?”

Or wandering the battlements of the towers and looking out across the city. Rebuilding is expensive, and so some parts of Kirkwall still bear the marks of the Venatori attack a little over a year ago: collapsed buildings that never got raised again, battle-scars and scorch marks from dracolisks. “What was it like?” he asks. “The Venatori attack.”

He also goes for long walks through the city, right past the alienage (although his gaze lingers), and venturing into the deeper recesses of the city slums. One particular afternoon, he emerges from Darktown blinking half-blinded into the dim light of Lowtown, which is right about when a few thieves assemble around him for an attempted mugging, knives brandished. “I really don’t have time for this,” he says to the ringleader, looking more annoyed than frightened; which is right about when a Riftwatch colleague might turn the corner and encounter the scene.


( Also happy to receive wildcards, or to write up a bespoke starter for you; just hmu @ quadrille if you’d like to discuss! )

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[interroga]

Few people join Riftwatch without Fifi learning of them,

and Cassian pays attention to the elven servants in a way that most out of Tevinter don’t. This particular woman had been good at ghosting in the background, slipping out of rooms like a shadow, but he made a point of noting who bustled through the Gallows carrying their laundry. Cleaning staff everywhere were the most easily-overlooked, and often his first stop for useful information and gossip. Magisters overlooked them to their detriment.

So he stalls as he’s called out, hands in his pockets in imitation of nonchalance. But his shoulders tighten in self-consciousness; he knows this isn’t where he’s supposed to be, looking the way he does.

Still: “We work together, I think,” he says. Not exactly an explanation for being here, but: it’s an in.

[untiltheyarent]

The way her eyes widen slightly suggests Fifi wasn't expecting him to recognize her, but her response isn't strictly negative-- if anything, she's impressed.

"Yes," she says quietly, and glances once more from him to the alienage below. "Do you have family here?" She knows elfbloods look human, she's not a fool; it's the way he lingered and watched that had her on guard.

[interroga]

The man’s not eager to give up his intimate personal details, lackadaisically handing out the information he normally kept bricked-up and tucked away under lock and key, nobody’s business but his own. And the truth is that the answer’s probably no.

But he hesitates long enough over the answer, too-mindful of the fact that Fifi’s an elf. And no might make him sound like some morbid tourist, coming by here for— the wrong reasons, the worst reasons that might lead a human man to linger and stare down the road of a city alienage.

So: “Not that I know of,” Cassian says quietly, his dark eyes resting on hers, and it is a very particular emphasis which tips his hand a little.

Not that he knows of. But that means it’s possible.

(He thinks of a sister with sharper ears and a riot of messy black hair, and a name he hasn’t uttered in years.)

[untiltheyarent]

A slight lift in her chin as Fifi takes his meaning, and she studies the stranger for a moment.

"There's plenty to do," she offers, her hackles lowering, and nods lightly toward the alienage once more. "Aid to be offered. Should that be of interest."

[interroga]

Cassian follows her gaze back to the alienage, the gates to the elvhen ghetto, the tight-clustered buildings all stacked on top of each other, and he hesitates. It’s a mingling of concerns fighting for priority in his head: is he allowed, should he get involved, is that even something he should let others see him doing, is this part even his fight anymore —

But humans did charitable works too, didn’t they? Some Marcher baron or Nevarran academic who wanted to seem generous and big-hearted, for frivolous reasons or earnest ones, dropping metaphorical coppers in the bucket for the elven plight. It wasn’t unheard of.

The man’s biting the inside of his lip, before he says: “It is. I could. What sort of aid?”

[untiltheyarent]

She senses his unease, and it draws forth a faint smile. Fifi steps forward, offering a hand to beckon him forward, back into the alienage.

“All sorts,” she answers, and by the looks of things, she intends to show him.
“I’m Josephine. Was one of your parents an elf?”

[interroga]

The temptation is there to say no and never mind, I made a mistake and square his shoulders and turn and disappear back into the Lowtown streets. This isn’t his world. He doesn’t need to be here.

But Minrathous had been unsafe for elves for generations, long before he joined the fight. We’ll tell everyone you were born here. His mother and father in Ferrix assiduously covering their tracks, smoothing over his history, getting the right paperwork to say their son was a good and proper Imperium citizen.

Kirkwall at least seems safer than that. So after that lingering hesitation, teetering back and forth over the metaphorical line in the sand and uncertain whether to step over it, he finally walks forward and joins Josephine. Further down the quiet unpopular street where no one’s likely to overhear.

“Cassian,” he says. “Yes.”

He hadn’t meant to mention any of this at all, would ordinarily never have volunteered this information off the cuff— wouldn’t have done if it she weren’t so obviously elven herself— but still, he gives the bare minimum. “My mother. But I grew up with humans. Never lived in an alienage.”

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi knows the look well of a man who'd like to say yes but isn't certain he should, and she offers him a sympathetic smile as if to say no hurry, no pressure. It does, however, broaden when he confirms, and she begins to walk at his side in a gentle manner reminiscent of guiding an skittish horse.

"What do you know of them?" Alienages.

[interroga]

“Not much. I’m from Tevinter. It’s,” how do you tactfully put this, “worse there. So I stayed as far away as I could.”

There’s a whole story there in the margins, familiar and well-worn for so many elfblooded people who have managed to pass as human. His tragedy is not unique. It’s just another iteration.

And which is how Cassian wound up here: painfully curious, lollygagging, staring down the street, trying to catch a glimpse of the world which was so alien to him. He could say more: we were from outside the city, his only frame of reference was Dalish,

but he stays quiet on that, for now.

“Did you grow up here?”

[untiltheyarent]

"So I hear," Fifi says, with a trace of tension-breaking irony: he doesn't have to explain Tevinter to her, at least, and she doesn't press him on a topic that's visibly made him uncomfortable.

"No," she answers, allowing the redirect, "I grew up in the country outside Val Royeaux. Moved to the city when I was older, though I've never lived in an alienage either."

[interroga]

And they’re both from Riftwatch and most of them seem to live at or near the Gallows, so if Josephine doesn’t live here —

“So you just visit too?” Cassian asks. “Do… favours for friends?”

He’s picking his way through the conversation, a little stilted and awkward, clearly out of his element. Of course the concept of mutual aid and neighbourly community isn’t alien to him, but he’s so over-aware of how out-of-place he feels here. The closer they walk into the neighbourhood, the more he’s looking at all of their surroundings rather than the woman beside him. His head tilts back and back, to stare up at the vhenadahl towering over the neighbourhood.

[untiltheyarent]

"Mmhmm." Her smile is warm as she confirms, letting him have a moment to look around before she continues.

"As with anywhere, look for the community and you'll find it. We may live in the Gallows and our neighbors here, but nobody's confined." Tilting her head to one side to peer around him, she waves at somebody on their doorstep, her nose wrinkling in a silly grin-- yes, she was just here, she's back again.

"What sort of things can you do? Manual labor, caring for children? ...reading?" The last one is spoken as a massive long shot, but she looks hopeful anyway.

[interroga]

Nowadays when someone’s asking for his qualifications, he usually rattles off a very, very different list. Espionage, sabotage, assassination. But so Cassian chews over the question anew, trying to re-examine himself and his own skills when robbed of that particular context. When he’s not being a blade wielded by hands above him.

The resulting list, when he takes out all the rest, feels depressingly short.

“I can read Trade, Tevene, and Antivan,” he confirms. “Manual labour. I’m handy with disassembling and reassembling dwarven craft, if it comes up. I can cook.”

She might be a maid, but he still sounds a bit like he’s delivering a report to a superior; an automatic instinct.

gives u sidequests

[untiltheyarent]

Most people in Riftwatch can read, Fifi understands, but it's still so impressive to her when they can do it with multiple languages; for all the work she's done in Trade, she's barely touched Orlesian, her native tongue. She looks a bit wistful as he goes on, but it dwindles as his deference further endears her to him.

"That'll be more than enough," she assures him, and, glancing around, points out a house with several children playing idly in front. "If you can cook, they'll be glad of it; [that lady] watches all the children during the day, and I doubt she'd mind having an extra hand in the kitchen."
Pointing to the man who'd just waved at her, she adds, "drunks destroyed [the guy's name's] produce wagon in Lowtown the other night, he needs help repairing it but no one's had the time."

scoops them into my quest log

[interroga]

Cassian’s gaze follows where Josephine gestures, looking at the two houses she’d called out, noting them in his memory. These are such small tasks compared to what he’s used to — this is no violent revolution, no toppling of an empire, no joining Riftwatch’s notorious ranks — but. He still remembers where he came from, the things they owe to each other, the bricks of that small community. If people weren’t looking after each other, what was the point of everything he’d done?

“Will you introduce me?” he asks. “Suspect this goes a bit easier if…”

He trails off, a helpless gesture of a hand, indicating his own face. It had mostly been a benefit in his work, letting him glide through Tevinter with less scrutiny, but now it makes him stand out.

[untiltheyarent]

"Of course," she answers, and holds up her arm, inviting him to link his: it's an unthinking gesture, offered to give him an anchor in an uncertain situation. Let her lead, she'll take care of it.

And she does, taking Cassian around and introducing him one by one to the neighbors of the alienage. By the time they're finished, Fifi's list has been compounded many times over by an assortment of requests, more than one person could ever hope to accomplish in a year, perhaps a lifetime.
After they've made the rounds, she walks him back to the alienage entrance where they met, offering a slightly apologetic but nonetheless pleasant smile. Here we are.

[interroga]

For all Cassian’s usual guarded caution, something in him loosened as he took Josephine’s arm and allowed himself to ease into it; some innate instinct to fit in, to look as natural as possible, to don the guise of a local until it felt more real, some of that stilted uncomfortable body language vanishing.

After the third townsperson needing help mentions a violent goose having gotten loose into the alleys and needing retrieving, he’d pulled a battered notebook out of his chest pocket and started jotting down notes, names, reminders. Normally his work couldn’t be logged anywhere, but these were innocent enough: a well mechanism which needed re-tuning, a delivery of apples which needed transporting across the city, basic errands here and there.

Once they’re done and heading back to the entrance, he exhales. He’d been warmer and chattier while they were schmoozing; now the mask sinks away again, the man reverting back to more contemplative. His demeanour seems to subtly shift where and when as needed.

“For not being from Kirkwall, you seem to know everyone here,” he remarks.

[untiltheyarent]

Noticing the shifts in demeanor, Fifi says nothing of them, seeming every bit the bright and helpful guide even as a twinge of fatigue pulls at the corners of her eyes.

"Not everyone in Kirkwall," she says plainly, turning to glance back into the alienage, "but here, perhaps." She releases his arm, resting her own back over her basket once more.
"A person who's alone in a place can get lost there," she adds, a bit evasively, "I try not to."

[interroga]

"I've been doing that, for a while," Cassian says after a moment, ruminative, trying to figure out the best way to safely describe the nature of his life with the Shadow Dragons. "Letting myself get lost in the crowd, I mean. Traveling, busy with my work, not putting down roots. Been a while since I've been somewhere anyone even knew my name. It looks... nice. I mean, obviously it's—"

it's still an alienage,

"but I think you know what I mean. It seems homey. I grew up in a small town; it reminds me of that."

[untiltheyarent]

He describes his experience, and she can't help but smile at the similarities; getting lost on purpose, that's its own advantage. Lost to all but oneself. But,

she realizes with a tinge of remorse, it's a life defined by loneliness. Being nothing to so few for so long, one forgets how real people are meant to behave. The way he stood so awkwardly and aimlessly at the entrance; if she were displaced again, found herself on the other side of the world, might she not do the same? Wouldn't it be easier to give up entirely?

"I'm glad you came," she says in a moment of unexpected candor, her smile flickering. She glances down, away, heaves a little sigh of defeat.
"...Fifi," she amends, "you can call me Fifi."

[interroga]

He does a small double-take, but a double-take nonetheless, shooting her a rueful look as she offers that up.

“Is ‘Fifi’ for friends?” he asks. Half-joking, maybe, but it’s a real question too.

omg I missed this entirely

[untiltheyarent]

His reaction is cute, and she laughs lightly about it, giving a little nod.

"Familiarity," is all she says at first, but follows it up after a moment with, "it seems like something you're in need of."

[interroga]

The faintest wince, another small misstep in his gait, only detectable to someone — like her — very accustomed to measuring others’ body language. That awareness of having been so effectively clocked. He almost considers sliding right past it and not confirming either way, but: what’s the point?

“Was it that obvious,” Cassian says after a moment. Then, neutrally: “Agents aren’t supposed to get homesick.”

[untiltheyarent]

Fifi nods, not unkindly-- it was that obvious-- and gives him a measuring look.

"Everyone gets homesick," she says, "especially agents." What could be more thankless than being on the job every hour of every day, always checking over one's shoulder?

"I suppose you don't mean agents of Riftwatch?"

[interroga]

“In general.” It could be Riftwatch, except that they’re not usually stationed away for such long periods of time. So many of them have that glowing green shard; it keeps tugging them home.

“But I’m—” was? am? he supposes he still is, “a Shadow Dragon, too. Before all this.”

They’ve spent the whole day together, in and out of people’s homes, he’s been offered tea and homemade hearth cakes from Fifi’s friends; so being cagey about the remaining details felt wrong, especially when any glance at his recruitment report would say where he’s joining them from.